


All Time Is Unredeemable

by phantomlistener



Category: Doctor Who
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-02
Updated: 2012-06-02
Packaged: 2017-11-06 16:41:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/421044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantomlistener/pseuds/phantomlistener
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's given up on second chances, she's given up on hope. But the Universe is cracking, and impossible things can happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Time Is Unredeemable

There's a crack in her wall.

Cracks aren't unusual these days, both in the buildings and in the people's spirits, but this particular one troubles her. The sky is a palette of reds and oranges, the light streaming through the windows and coming to rest everywhere on the opposite wall. Everywhere except for the crack - it's as if it's sucking in the light, and that troubles her because no simple fissure should do that.

But she's busy, and less inquisitive than she used to be, so the crack gathers in more and more light and slowly spreads across the wall until it's stretching from the corner of the comm screen to the the edge where it meets her desk. Even then she ignores it: there are too many things to worry about, and she is so tired.

She's sitting at her desk in silence, so quiet she can almost hear the dust touching down on the surfaces, when a voice whispers in the back of her mind.

_Romana?_

To begin with she thinks she's hallucinating again: something that's become more and more of a frequent occurrence as the war goes on, to the point that she happily whiles away hours talking to phantoms and ghosts of a better past. But there's no visual element to this, just a curious, pleading echo in her head that whispers her name again and again.

 _Romana? Romana, I know you're there._  
  
She ignores it until Leela comes in and asks why somebody is calling her name.

Even then, she waits for her friend to leave before walking up to the wall and placing her hand close to the widening crack, feeling a little childish. "Hello?"

_Romana, can you hear me?_

There was a time when she would have alerted guards, called in a scientific team and interrogated the voice until she got the answers she wanted. Instead, she kneels down and speaks straight in to the wall. "I can hear you. Who are you?"

_Oh, Romana, you don't know me? Is it the bowtie? Because if you think the bowtie is a mistake, I can always change it..._

"Doctor!" She says his name with a gasping sort of relief, because she just knows that there's no-one else in the universe who would introduce themselves so ridiculously. "Where are you?"

 _A long way away_ he says gently. _I can't help you_.

Her laughter is genuine but bitter. "I've given up hope of help. We're going to lose this war."

 _Yes, you are._ He sounds young, but the sadness is ancient. _I shouldn't be able to talk to you, Romana._

"We're going to finish it, and timelock the war."

_I know._

Of course he knows. He's the Doctor, her mad, best friend: he always knows. She should have remembered that, just like she should have remembered that he did have an annoying habit of turning up at the most unlikely times. "You're okay?"

_I miss you._

She can't get the words out, just chokes back a sob that's half laughter and half despair and settles more comfortably on the floor. "I'm so tired."

 _I know_ he says again. _I know, Romana. But you and me...we were good, all that travelling, all that world saving_.

"We were the best." She has no idea if he knows about E-Space, no idea if he has any comprehension of what she did to free the enslaved Tharils, no idea if he realises that she's not the naive girl he left behind so long ago. "But things change."

_Things always change. That's the beauty of this crazy universe, Romana, that nothing ever stays the same._

By this point she has no idea if she's dreaming the whole thing or not. What does it matter? Tomorrow she dies, along with her entire world, and if she can't spend her last evening talking to an imaginary voice through a crack in the wall then when can she? "Doctor," she says eventually, softly. "I need to tell you-"

_You don't need to tell me anything. I know when it is for you, Romana, I know what happens tomorrow. So there's nothing you need to do except pretend, for a little while, that none of it's going to happen._

"Are you real?" she asks then, because suddenly it's important that she know that he's really there. If he is another hallucination then she doesn't know what she'll do.

 _I'm no ghost_ he says regretfully, and she realises that for him, she probably is. _There are these cracks everywhere - it's a long story, but I found one mad, impossible crack that led to Gallifrey. To you. How could I resist the temptation?_

"You always did like to interfere," she says shakily. If anyone could see her now they'd think her mad, sitting on the floor of her office bathed in sunlight, head bowed to her knees, clothes dirty and hair unbrushed. She'd give almost anything to be who she was, before, to have the freedom to chase starlight halfway across the universe and laugh at inconsequential jokes. "Tell me about the universe?"

 _Oh, this universe is amazing._ She can see his grin without even knowing his face. _Full of impossible things and amazing people. One day you should meet Amy - mad, she is - and you'd like River as well, even if you would get a headache just thinking about our relative timelines. Well, maybe you wouldn't. You always did have a better head for those things. And speaking of heads, I think you'd have liked my fez. I liked my fez. Just your style, even if I do say so myself._ His babble is so familiar that she has to swallow past a sudden lump in her throat and ignore the stinging in her eyes. _And you should see what I've done with the TARDIS - she's beautiful. No more of those old white walls and floors._

"I rather liked white."

 _Of course you did. I remember that feather coat._ It's said with a note of affectionate exasperation.

"Better than that scarf so long it could have been used as a skipping rope."

 _Hey, I liked that scarf_. There's a brief pause and then he speaks again, his voice suddenly urgent. _I don't have much time left before this link fails._ "I understand."

 _Listen to me, Romanadvoratrelundar._ All the cheer, all the bravado is gone, leaving just a desperate sincerity. _I know you're scared. I was scared. And I can't tell you there's no reason to be, because we both know there is. But you're brilliant._

"You don't know-"

 _I do. I know about E-Space, I know what you did - and I've been there myself._ The pain in his voice is harsh and she wonders briefly whether that means he's going to have kept his promise and ended the war himself. _It doesn't change anything. You're not just brilliant, you're fantastic. And no matter what happens, I won't forget you._

She can't speak for fear of the tears that are collecting in her throat.

 _I've never said this before. Always assumed you knew, but now it feels necessary. You're so important, Romana. You're the reason I keep on doing this_.

"I know," she manages. "I know."

 _I knew you knew. I just had to make sure_. Something beeps on the other side of the crack. _It's nearly time_. He pauses, and she can almost hear the effort it takes for him to keep talking. _First, I need to know - do you think the bowtie was a wise move?_  
  
The typical, inappropriate humour nearly costs her her composure. "Thank you, Doctor."

 _For what?_ he says flippantly.

"For being real," she breathes. "For not being another hallucination. For giving me the strength to last one more day."

He inhales shakily. _Goodbye, Romana_.

"Goodbye, Doctor."

She feels the severed connection like a wound in her mind and lets her hands trail down the wall to rest on the floor in front of her. The sunlight is disappearing fast, the red of the sky becoming a dark, forbidding purple that casts the room in to shadow, and although she's doing her best not to cry her cheeks are wet with tears.

"Goodbye, Doctor," she whispers again to herself. She's not brave, not going to pretend to herself that she's not terrified, and certainly not one of those people who stare death in the face and laugh. In the past, perhaps, she would have fought to the last second. But now, through the peace that their brief contact has left, she feels as if she's already dead.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the November ficathon at the eleven_romana comm on LJ. The title is from TS Eliot's Four Quartets.


End file.
